


A night in Soho

by Zeckarin



Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [31]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Attempt at mugging, Crowley is sometimes good at being a demon, Drinking & Talking, Gen, Guardian Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Humor, Principality Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Turtles, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23479894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeckarin/pseuds/Zeckarin
Summary: It is never a good idea to spread evil in this part of Soho. Not if you're not a certain demon.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523585
Comments: 11
Kudos: 108





	A night in Soho

**Author's Note:**

> A short fic, with NO Hurt!Aziraphale!!

That night, when it all started, both of them were, to be honest, quite sloshed. Wasted. Two sheets to the wind (at least). But when Aziraphale suddenly gasped and grabbed Crowley’s forearm like a lifeline, the demon immediately knew that something awful was happening.

“Bloody Heaven, Aziraphale! My wine! You made me spill my _wine_!”

His friend looked through him with that faraway expression he knew so well by now, and with a huge sigh to let anyone around (a mouse and a bookshop) know that he didn’t agree at all with this change of plan, he sobered up.

“Angeeeeeel!” he whined, snapping his wine back in his glass and putting said glass on the coffee table (It was a good vintage, no way he would leave it on the rug). “Come oooon! We’re drinking, here!”

“Someone needs us, Crowley,” declared his friend, stone faced, his head turning to the door.

“ _Us_? Oh no, no no no, I don’t think so, Aziraphale. I didn’t sign for _that_ , nobody needs me!” wailed the demon, still trying to save the night.

“Apologies. Someone needs _me_ ,” corrected the angel absent-mindedly before disappearing.

And that was the worst, thought Crowley once more. That was what was so exasperating about the angel. He thought it. He really did. He really had apologised, and it wasn’t even to lure Crowley to follow him. The demon could stay in that bloody bookshop and finish his glass (but not the bottle, Aziraphale wouldn’t like that, because they were drinking it _together_ ) and let the angel deal about whatever that freaking emergency was all by himself, and his friend wouldn’t bring it up again, and wouldn’t think less of him either.

So of course, he followed. Didn’t really have a choice, right? Not now they were on their own side, at least.

 _Freaking humans with their stupid bad timing,_ thought Crowley as he appeared in a dirty alley. Of _course_ it was a dirty alley, it almost always was this kind of surroundings when a human was desperate enough to make Aziraphale’s angelic sense tingle. Demonic interventions were far more amusing, in his opinion. The right temptation almost always happened in far glamorous locations.

A few metres away, three figures were moving. One of them falling to the ground with a muffled cry, the two others difficult to distinguish from one another.

The angel was… oh for badness’ sake, he was _hugging_ the human girl. Quite understandable in her state of mind, of course. She was completely terrified and needed the contact, but that meant they would need way more wine after that. Aziraphale didn’t like touching, and she was literally clinging to him. Poor angel, he would need a long meaningless discussion about ducks or something equably stupid to get over that.

That girl obviously had a very bad “fight of flight” reflex, but didn’t really need one anyway. She had an angel now, that was way more handy.

Crowley walked towards the three figures, analysing the situation with a detached mind, looking attentively at the young woman, the man and the surroundings. The girl had a gash on the hand, but seemed otherwise safe. She clutched her purse tightly in her other hand. Mugging, huh? Well at least that put _something else_ off the table, thank Satan, but he already knew it (the man was still alive, after all).

There was the distinctive metallic smell of blood in the air. Knife on the ground, ugh, _violence_ again. What a lack of imagination. Raising an eyebrow, he shoved his hands in his pockets and crossed the angel’s eyes for a second.

“Oh, _thank you,_ dear. Can I..?” asked Aziraphale, tipping his head to the human crumpled the floor, moaning while holding his wrist to his chest.

“Sure, angel. I’ll join you in a minute.”

His friend sent him a blinding smile and disappeared, taking the girl with him. Probably home, healed, safe and asleep. She wouldn’t remember any of this, if he knew Aziraphale well (he did).

“Well, well, well, pal. Just you and me now, isn’t it?” drawled Crowley, crouching in front of the man. “Broken wrist, eh? Got a rib too, by the look of it. Not really clever, are you? Only stupid thugs dare set foot in this part of Soho.”

“What? What do you? Where are they… _Who_ are you?”

“I, my boy, am your saviour. You are very lucky, let me tell you that. See, _he_ wouldn’t have left you a chance. I will. I won’t even call the police.”

Crowley reached up and lowered his glasses. The man shrieked and scrambled back until his back bumped against the wall.

“You have a choice here, kid. You can live, or you can die. I don’t really care either way, I have a very good beaujolais waiting for me and I will not let it get stale for the likes of you. So what do you want? Live, or die?”

The human’s eyes answered for him. It was always the same unimaginative answer. Crowley sighed, remembering the rare humans he’d met that had been able to talk their way out. He could count them on the finger of a blind butcher’s hand.

He snapped his fingers and started the formal speech. “Okay. Here’s a contract. I need you to read it and sign it. If you can’t read, I’ll do it for you. If you ever hurt anyone else in the future, this contract will be considered broken and I will come and collect my prize. First, I want to know-”

It was only ten minutes later that Crowley pushed the bookshop’s door and made a beeline for the backroom. Aziraphale greeted him with a wide smile. “Crowley! How are you, my dear?”

“Perfect,” answered the demon, slouching back in his couch and picking up his glass of wine, summoning back the warm feeling of alcohol in his bloodstream. “Won’t bother you again. Got some of his… associates names. Won’t bother you either.”

“Glad to hear it,” smiled Aziraphale, eyes slightly glassy as he got back to his previous inebriated state. “Now, as I was saying, it is absolutely _possible_. God always had a great sense of humour, and we already know that some humans are particularly receptive to-”

“Nonononoooo angel! No, you’re totally wrong! It’s _imagination_! Agnes Nutter was a witch, she saw things, okay, grant you that, but we’re talking literature here! There isn’t a flat world on giant turtles navigating in the cosmos! T’s a _book_!”

“You mean a book… like this one?” answered a very smug Aziraphale, brandishing _The nice and accurate prophecies of Agnes Nutter._

“Oh, great, very clever, angel! What I’m saying is… what _was_ I saying? Yes! There isn’t a bloody flat planet on bloody turtles, because-”

“Turtle. There’s only one turtle, Crowley,” corrected the angel, raising a trembling but imperious finger.

“There’s four! You don’t even know what you’re talking about! There’s four bloody turtles!”

“Elephants,” declared Aziraphale with great serious, opening another bottle.

“Whot? That’s not even remotely the same! Make up your mind! It can be elephants anyway, elephants can’t swim. Has to be turtles. So my _point_ is...”


End file.
